Trace resisted the urge to check the ammunition of the handgun he was pointing at the door. It couldn't have changed from when he loaded it a minute ago. Suddenly, his breathing caught. Gunfire had sounded outside. Anxiety mounted for a second. Then, it was gone. He reminded himself that he was to hold this perimeter in case of a blackout. Someone else would have deal with the gunner, it'd get a lot worse if someone slipped a bomb in here under darkness. That's what he told himself, at least. He resighted his aim at the same moment the door opened.

"Hello?"

Luca examined the source of the voice in the green light. From her eyes, she looked tired and weary. Her clothing was old and cheap, with a sleeve torn from the seams. Most importantly, she was unarmed. Good, someone normal. He let go of a breath he didn't realize he was holding and replied. "Yeah." Luca's tone held some warmth; no use using his Cop Voice here, he reasoned. He set the gun on the counter with a minute clatter, pointing it at the door. "Come in, come in. Hands where I can see them though. Sorry." A pause. He had to follow standard protocol, didn't he? "Name?"

In the crisp, signal-free blackout air, the sounds carried well enough. Inhuman shrieking, shouting, screaming, gunfire. Some back-street genestitcher's private abomination loose, maybe--but the gun didn't sound street; it sounded Jager, or upper-level Selmie. You got to know that sort of thing, if you were around long enough. And the screaming came after the shooting, too. The thing was either fast or tough.

Well, there'd be no love lost if he stood up that particular party. A little bit of jag-jigging was half-expected, when the lights went out--same way you expected mobs to march on Selmalite offices, before the officials started keeping the really good toys in stock. The shrieking, though. It'd look good if some Selmie boy took out something after it signed a Jagger up for a blackwater bath. Lend a touch of credibility to the 'protection' part of 'protection racket.'

Virtue began to lope, easily, in the direction of the firefight. Might be time to have some fun, soon.

The human body is a true carnival of horrors, and, frankly, I'm embarrassed to have one.

"Almost all discipline problems can be traced back directly to being conscious.”

Lind took a careful step through the doorway, her arms away from her torso, her hands splayed, well her right hand was, she still held her grocery bag in her left. Would the officer want her to place the bag down? He hadn’t mentioned it, and it wasn’t like the few items contained within were particularly threatening, unless the officer really didn’t like wheat bread. Still, at least the man sounded like he still had his wits about him, so she at least liked her “not getting shot by a wild plasma bolt from a twitchy officer” chances.

“Lind Keeper, sir.” She said, continuing her careful advance forward, probing first with her toe before committing to a step so she wouldn’t run into anything. How far in would he want her to go? Well, as long as she didn’t do anything stupid, she would likely be fine. “I have no augments, sir, so I cannot see well. Where would you like me to go?” She said, her voice as calm and level as she could manage.

//… and it was there, and her blade flicked out catching only air. She backed from the door, worn floorboards shivering with each misplaced step...// Fall of the Aelir Isles, Vol. III

A bit of relief came to Jacob's mind when the familiar sight of a Jagercop appeared from around the corner, though it had all but washed away by the time his eyes fell upon the illuminated body of some poor fucker who'd been done in. By the looks of it, whoever— or whatever— had done it really went to town on the body, laying it out and dismembering nearly all of its limbs from their respective points on the torso. The stench of blood, metallic and foreboding, hung low in the air.

Within seconds of seeing the body, he turned to the man to speak; only to find that he was cowering against the wall from something that Strevian couldn't see. He furrowed his brow, moving close to the man and stretching out a hand for a moment to grab the frightened cop's shoulder before halting at his behest, not fully obeying the man's instruction to run and not fully appreciating the fact he was called an idiot. He looked to the spot of the night where the cop had been focused on, raising his pistol only slightly. Was he spooked at God-damn shadows?

No. The night began to move.

Jacob leveled his pistol with the blurred space and was prepared to fire off a round at it before the cop beside him did the same, two precise shots impacting the moving region of space above the mangled corpse. Whatever the cop shot at became aggravated instantaneously, releasing a horrible noise that Jacob couldn't describe as anything other than gut-wrenching. The operative recoiled and fell to the ground, hands shooting up to his ears and trying, desperately trying to get that fuckin' sound out of his skull. He felt the cold metal that belonged to the side of his gun press up against his temple, and for a split second the thought of trigger discipline came to his mind;he let his finger of off the trigger but kept his occupied hand pressed close to his head, not willing to drop his only defense against whatever was incapacitating him. Above the horrible noise, three distinct shots were heard to his left; Jacob quickly looked over in time to see the Jagercop's rifle drop from his hands to the wet earth below. Hands still attached to the weapon.

It was at this moment Jacob knew that fighting back was not a smart option.

He fought through the intense ringing in his ears from the fallout of the screech and holstered his pistol, springing forward to grab the man's closest available piece of clothing. He yanked the man as hard as he could towards Jacob's own waiting hands, positioning himself as best he could before using his free hand to wrap his arm around the injured cop's inner right thigh. He shifted his left hand— the one he used to grab the man's arm— and wrapped it tighter around the mangled limb. Jacob hoisted the body over his back, feeling a slight spring of pain in his lower spine as he did so, and lurched forward as fast as he could to get out of there. At the worst, the thing would have plenty of time to catch up with them and he'd have to ditch the injured Jagercop. But he couldn't just... leave him there, like a coward.

Turning the corner into the alley, Jacob took two steps forward before a silhouette approached from the street entrance. Light offered no help in making out the man's appearance other than he was large, threateningly so. Boxed shoulders, as if he was some sort of crude reimagining of the human physique; and as the silhouette grew close enough to discern characteristics, Strevian understood why.

A Selmanite jumpsuit obscured a very mechanical-looking man; in fact, it looked more like an industrial robot than human. He was in no mood to tangle with any Selmie-looking fucks at the moment, let alone one that had parts strapped to him like it was a fashion statement. Jacob made no show of aggression and delivered a passive stare towards the man, the moans of pain emanating from the man behind him serving as evidence that Strevian had something to do other than have a meaningless skirmish. Not with that thing chasing after him.

"Wouldn't go back there if I were you," Jacob stated as he started to rush by the Selmanite employee. He stared forward at the street and his tone was urgent.

"In fact, I'd get the hell out of here."

Last edited by Quirbles on Mon May 14, 2018 1:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.

Luca never liked it when people called him that. It reminded him of how heavy-handed some of his less scrupulous coworkers could be. He should have accepted it for the time being; the situation called for a cop, not Trace from the local bar and grill. But still, people needed someone to really around. People like us, who helped others, or at least didn't harm others for their own sake. Reasonable people. Real people.

He shouldn't be thinking like this.

The policeman waited a little, watching the other person's silhouette. "Aaand there. That's fine." His voice was still personable and warm as it was before his train of thought turned to... whatever that was. "I'm going to check your bags, so if you would put them down there and, uh, there should be a bench some ways to your right." He waited for a second before slowly walking out from behind the counter. The blaster moved too, its shape reflecting a bit of the green light from the door. Luca hesitated. Did he trust this person? He held his handgun in a cold, hard grip. In case.

Ah. So two Jagers jigging. One down; the other running scared. Running man looked tough, too; decent kit, and old enough to know better, maybe. No longer worth dealing with off-bill. He put in the time to cancel his momentum (even his most basic motions looked clumsy and alien; the balance was all wrong), turned himself around, and accelerated enough to keep pace with the cop, keeping a little way behind him to keep his back out of temptation's way. The synthmuscle in his leg struggled to get him up to pace, before relaxing into the task of keeping him there.

"What seems to be the problem, officer?" A cartoon character's faux-innocent reply to a cartoon law enforcer choked out of Virtue's voice-box, made ironic by the permanent grin of the flesh-sync mask. Sensors shifted to the man on his back.

The fucker's hands were gone. Shit, man. Was going to be awkward for the cop seeing them on the monster-daddy's next pet, if they didn't end up in its feed bowl. And if the cop didn't cough it out first, obviously.

Cut looked clean, too. Like it'd been effortless. That earned a little mental frown, and a little mental note; if the Jagers hadn't made whoever dance a jig of their own within a week or so, Selmie'd need to start worrying about taking proactive measures.

The human body is a true carnival of horrors, and, frankly, I'm embarrassed to have one.

"Almost all discipline problems can be traced back directly to being conscious.”

“Yes, sir.” Lind nodded her head in the dark as she came to a stop as directed. She looked back into the gloom of the room, vaguely towards the officer outlined poorly by a green glimmer from the front door. Was that the sound of him picking something up? Someone deeper in the office standing up from a chair? No, nothing to worry about, just do what she was asked. Carefully Lind placed her bag of groceries down on the ground and took a step to her right, towards the seat the man had mentioned.

“There are some drinks in the bag. They should still be cool from the store, if you would like one.” Lind said, continuing to probe forward carefully until she nudged the seat with her foot. She reached out with her hand, felt around for the seat until her fingertips brushed against the top of the seat. Carefully Lind settled down, and placed her hands on her lap.

“I wonder how long this one will last.” She said, if only to fill the space.

//… and it was there, and her blade flicked out catching only air. She backed from the door, worn floorboards shivering with each misplaced step...// Fall of the Aelir Isles, Vol. III

"Nice voice." Jacob stated with a degree of apathy, the off-handed reply somewhat caused by his lack of focus on the Selmanite employee. Strevian's mind was focused on more important matters, like getting the Jagercop on his back sufficient medical attention. Living was of concern, too, seeing as whatever had sliced though the guy's flesh like butter was still in the area. The operative looked back to the Selmie for a moment, narrowing his eyes as he motioned with his head in the direction that the two had come from.

"Want to find out what happened? Should head back there."

The Selmie robot was probably smarter than that, but it was worth a try.

Strevian continued to the edge of the alleyway and stepped out into the once-populated 45th street, now a vacuous space of black air. The Jagercop quickly moved down the sidewalk to the outpost, hurrying as fast as physically possible with another man upon his back. The warm wetness that seeped onto the right arm and shoulder of his jacket was disconcerting. He was losing blood. Fast.

The outpost was dark, as to be expected; however, even in the low lighting, the faint outline of silhouettes creeped through the veil of the blackout. Strevian announced his presence once stepping through the doorway by quickly approaching the nearest available space, sweeping his arm across the top of a table and clattering various office supplies to the ground. Jacob set the wounded man upon the cleared surface.

"Got a wounded officer, he needs medical attention now. Back room should have something, anything." Strevian barked at the two figures, hoping that at least one of them wasn't some sort of civilian taking refuge; or worse, a criminal attempting to steal. The Jagercorp operative shirked off his jacket and t-shirt, exposing his thermal bottom layer to the cold air before getting to work, tearing his t-shirt into strands and quickly tying them into makeshift tourniquets around the officer's arms.

Luca placed the plastic bag down next to the wall, out of the way. He was about to answer Miss Keeper's question but stopped. Someone else, the silhouette of a man, had run into the building and was heading straight for the nearest table. Luca would've fired a warning shot at the intruder, if it wasn't for the body he was carrying. A moment later, most everything on the table went crashing onto the floor. Setting the body on the space created, the man started barking orders.

"Got a wounded officer, he needs medical attention now. Back room should have something, anything."

Luca narrowed his eyes. Who was this person? He didn't say Jager, or cop, and that'd probably mean he was Jager as well. That is, unless this was a distraction. You could find meds in any back room, much less one in a Jagercorp outpost. Luca made a snap decision. His heart sank as he turned his back to the stranger, and he imagined a knife flashing in the dark, catching his unarmored throat and spraying blood over the floor...

The smaller man quickly returned with a box, carrying it under his shoulder. He brought it to the body, pistol still in his other hand. Opening it on the table beside the stranger, who was busy tying something around the body's arms, he opened his mouth.

"Who are you?"

His voice was different this time. It was now authoritative and brief, carrying with the question distrust, and the preparedness to act on it if necessary.

The beast was injured, but not undone. Invisible flank dappled with splotches of blood and darkness, it stalked slowly after the escaping men, nose held low to the ground, following the trail of blood left on the pavement. It was a new scent for it. Not unpleasant, but not particularly enticing, either. It was a thing that traced the trail of stars, but the ichor of this puny live-thing was an ill substitute. Warm, yes, but not warmth.

Still, it persisted in its hunt, doing its best to hide the limp in its gait. Apex predators showed little weakness for their prey.

Thrum.

The beast stopped. A vibration resonated deep inside its core, drawing it... somewhere. It whined, noise pointed at the trail, but the call was too strong. Too alluring. With a final snort, it turned tail and ran off.

~

Chaos. Noise. Light. Dark. He hurt. God, he hurt, but the pain was a distant memory, hidden behind a veil of empty chill. Did he say he hurt? No, that didn't matter. The pain was nothing next to the freezing ice that bled through his veins. Everywhere it went, he felt his body growing weaker, a deep lethargy covering him in a wave from head to toe. He opened his eyes a crack to a blurred room of chaos. Someone spoke.

"Cold," he mumbled through blue lips, then his eyes fluttered shut once more.

~

It was almost too dark to see. Whatever ambient light was left only traced the outlines of buildings, fleeing forms, and other shapes too chaotic to identify. Where had the gunshot come from? Was it even a gunshot at all? Chava knew for certain she'd never heard a gunshot in her life, yet she was almost entirely certain it had been one.

It was just... just something to know.

Stumbling forward, she found herself pressed against the wall of a nearby building. She followed with her hand along the side, wrapping her hand around the handle when she came to the door. There, beyond the windows - a trace of light. Steeling herself, she went inside. A group of people were talking a ways inside, speaking about wounds and identities.